


London Is A Pretty Pigsty And This Is Not Good Value Housing

by mossnrocks



Series: A Journey And Other Important Things [4]
Category: Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: (implying every piece hasnt been divergent), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author has never seen London in their life, Author is idolizing Enola, Author tortures themself into writing things they can't, Enola and I agree 'Tewks' is the closest thing we're going to get to a good nickname, Gen, Gender Neutral Pronouns, Gender-noncomforming Enola, Genderqueer Enola, I don't know I can't write, I tagged it with romance but it's a slight ruse, Is Tewks a himbo?, No beta we get stabbed instead, Nonbinary Enola, Other, Sharing a Bed, Sharing food is a valid love language, Tewks is ace and I stand by that, Tewks is still here bc he's emotionally attached to Enola now, Tewks wears a dress, The characters might be a little ooc, bc im Weak, the romance has arrived from hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mossnrocks/pseuds/mossnrocks
Summary: Essentially, In Which Enola and Tewksbury discover that Dress-shop owners lie about good-value housing. Beds are slept in, finally, and more food is eaten. Words puzzles are played. Tewks attempts to bond over shared interests while Enola is trying to work.
Relationships: Enola Holmes & Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury, Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury
Series: A Journey And Other Important Things [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943527
Comments: 1
Kudos: 49





	London Is A Pretty Pigsty And This Is Not Good Value Housing

**Author's Note:**

> My brain is a soup so sit down and have a bowl, please. Enjoy.
> 
> Also I did way too much research about food in the 1850s for like, a pretty small scene lmao.

London was bigger than Enola thought it would be. Somehow, in their mind, they had compressed it into a small village in their mind, one easily traversed by two youths in under a week. But now, with it all looming above them, Enola realized their mistake. It was a rather large one, now that they thought about it. Tewks stood beside them, hands clenched in the folds of his skirt. Was he thinking? Was he nervous? Enola could not tell, and it needled at them. 

"So," Tewks said in a low voice, leaning over to whisper in their ear. "Where to now?" 

Enola did not know. They needed to come up with a plan, and they had one, but it had skipped over this. It had run around the point like children around a May Pole, and a consensus had never been reached. 

"We need to come up with a plan." They muttered back. Tewksbury's jaw dropped for a moment before snapping up, like rubber rebounding. 

"What?" He hissed. "You-- You don't already have one?" 

"I was more focused on _getting_ here!" Enola spat out, hunkering down into their shoulders. "I have a smidgen of one, I guess?" 

"And _what_ is it?" 

"Good Value Housing?" 

* * *

They had ended up dropping by a dress shop, and Enola had agonized for a while about what would be most convincing. A lady and a lady? A woman and a lady? A maid and a lady? Enola saw the dresses and felt the urge to don the clothes of a lady, travel around in large, fanciful dresses with Tewksbury at their arm. Perhaps find their mother, then move to the country? Enola shook their head and decided. 

It wasn't their favorite choice. But it made sense. Sense and sensibilities, that was all Enola had to present. 

(And if the dress-shop lady was missing a few ribbons-- oh, well, they were only penny-things.) 

"This corset could be tighter," Tewks commented, looking at himself in the mirror. Enola had to admit, he could clean up nice. It probably had something to do with the whole nobility bit. Not with his jawline, or his hair-- or anything. Anything. It was nothing. "Will you help?"

Enola helped. They paid. They asked the woman that was working the store about good-value housing. 

* * *

"This is _not_ good value boarding," Tewksbury said as soon as the woman was out of earshot. He looked around the cramped room, at the small, rickety bed, the corner fireplace, and the chest of drawers that was more of a chest of _drawer_. Enola shrugged and sat on the chest. 

"I don't--" They stopped. A rat had run over their boot, and they were staring down in disgust. "Okay, I see your point." 

Tewks did _not_ get a flutter in his gut at that, thank you very much. He did _not_ feel a squishy sort of mush in his chest that he had only felt once before. (And if that time once before had been for a handsome gardening lad, then, there was no question needed to be answered with something other than a curt nod of recognition.) 

"Told you." He settled with, sitting on the bed and wincing as it squeaked. Loudly. 

"Oh, be quiet," Enola said, pulling newspapers out of their waistcoat. 

"Um. Enola?" 

"Yes?" 

"What are you doing?" 

"Searching, of course. Don't ask. Questions will slow me down. If you want to do something, make tea." 

Tewksbury was aware that the statement was probably an attempt at a joke. Enola tried, even if they didn't always hit the target. But God! Tewks _was_ going to make some tea! He needed it. 

* * *

"So--"

"No, I'm not telling you what this message means." 

"...So it's a message?" 

Enola stared at Tewksbury, who had his hands tightly grasped around a mug of tea. He had pulled his skirts up to pool around him, and if Enola had looked for a moment longer, they probably would have been drawn into a daydream of dresses as lily pads floating gently on the surface on a pond, and people with long, tangled hair that sang. But they didn't look that long. They turned their attention back to the cipher they were constructing. 

"Do you want some tea?" 

"I already said no, Tewks." 

"Your mind could have changed in--" He checked the old clock on the mantle. "Five minutes?" 

Enola sighed. This was their fault for taking him along with them, after all. 

"Really! Isn't tea supposed to, um, increase brain function or something?" 

"Tewks, please shut your mouth before I have to do it for you." 

Enola stopped-- Christ, no, that had come out wrong. Tewksbury was blushing now, like the damsel he was. Enola had to accept that he was pretty with it. Christ. They looked back at their cipher, fiddling with the pencil and wishing vehemently that they both would just shut up about it. Forget it all, please. 

"Do you want--" 

"Tea? No." 

"I was going to say something to eat. We need supper." 

Enola relaxed their tense shoulders. Oh, alright. They'd give in. 

* * *

The food isn't what Tewks wants or expects it to be. Even the time on the road he and Enola had spent hadn't quite erased the romantic ideals he had around food. And this-- well, frankly pathetic spread of boiled potatoes, cheese, and bread. He had looked mournfully at the bacon in the butcher's window, but there simply wasn't a good enough reason to indulge. Yet. He wanted to save the bacon and the meat and the cakes for when something big happened. Like when Enola found their mother. (Of course, Enola would find her-- Enola was brainier than anyone Tewksbury had ever met. That he knew was brainy. Nevermind this train of thought, it's stupid, now that he thinks about it.) 

"Enola." He says, popping his head into their room. He's not too surprised to see Enola still curled up on the chest of drawers, sifting through a pile of papers. "Enola?" 

"Hm?" Enola looked up, and Tewksbury felt his breath catch in his throat. Their hair had come loose from their messy bun, and it curled around their face. Christ, his heart was stuttering now. "What is it now? Is the house on fire?" 

"W-what? No, of course not. Supper's done." 

"Supper?" Enola perked up, shuffling their papers as they stood. "You've made it?" 

"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I?" Tewks said, his brow furrowing. Idly, he twisted his fingers in his skirt. "What else would we eat?" 

"I was going to suggest buying pies." 

Enola was already following him back to the kitchen now, and Tewks took the moment to attempt to calm himself down. He looked back over his shoulder, nose wrinkled. 

"Pies?" He said. Enola laughed at him then, and it was better than he had ever imagined. 

"Yes, pies." 

They grin at his face, and then they both sit down to their meal. It's bland, it's not very good, and Tewks is already plotting out how to make it tens times better, but he keeps getting distracted by Enola. God, Enola Holmes was like nothing else. At first, they gazed at their meal as though it were heaven-sent, and then they dug in as though they had not eaten in days. Tewks frowned at the thought. Actually, when _had_ Enola last eaten? 

"Tewks." Enola gazed into his eyes, serious as death. "Tewks, I hate you." 

"E-excuse me?" 

"How have you done this with potatoes, bread, and cheese? If I tried all we would have is charcoal. _How_ on God's Earth have you done it?" 

Tewks felt the prickle of heat in his cheeks again and tried to repress a grin. 

"It's not that good." 

"Shut up, you absolute idiot! It's great!" 

Tewksbury took a bite to avoid having to answer. 

* * *

When the night came, Enola was not ready. They had been avoiding thinking about it, honestly. They knew the moment they walked into the small corner room that there was one bed. One bed, only one, thin bed. They had known, eventually, that night would come with their cloak of black, and a choice would need to be made. They still weren't ready. 

Neither, it seemed, was Tewksbury. 

They stood awkwardly together, at the edge of the bed. They were only a foot apart, if Enola reached out, they'd easily be able to slide a hand along those slim arms-- no. Absolutely not! Enola refused to follow that train any further. Christ, were they really so desperate? Falling in infatuation with the first boy they met? Get a grip, Holmes. Get a grip. 

Tewksbury coughed politely into his elbow. 

"Um-- not boys, first, then?" 

Enola did _not_ laugh. They didn't! It wasn't even that funny. 

"People in dresses first, Tewks." They certainly don't smile at him then. Tewks certainly doesn't blush again. Eventually, though, he lays down. Rolls over. Nearly falls off. 

And then there's Enola, and they try to squeeze in without touching. (It was so much easier when it was dirt that they were sleeping on, Christ.) 

They lay there, both on the verge of tipping off the bed entirely. It'd be different if they lived somewhere else. If they were different people, even. But Enola is Enola Holmes and Tewks is Viscount and Marquis and such. They've never had bosom buddies to sleep in a bed with. Enola had struggled by themself in the corner for nearly twenty minutes earlier, trying to remember if there was etiquette for this. Did they wear socks? No? What was the acceptable amount of touching?! (They didn't know it, of course, but Tewks had a similar conundrum in the kitchen around the same time.) 

Eventually, in the dark, they shuffled a bit closer. Did the etiquette they couldn't remember really matter? In the end, they were already breaking it. Tewksbury was wearing a dress, and Enola wasn't anything they usually wrote books about in England. (They had checked. Many times. It was never for nobles.) Somehow, they ended up very close. If their hands had become entwined, then oh well. They ignored it, of course. What else could one do? What else? 


End file.
